


Getting Your Hands Dirty

by seera_erizabesu



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: College, Grumpy Derek Hale, Hate to Love, M/M, Pining, School, University of California Berkeley, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 15:41:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1693667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seera_erizabesu/pseuds/seera_erizabesu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles slammed the door, dropped his book bag on the ground, and collapsed with a grunt on the apartment's beat-up couch. It was all quite dramatic, very Stiles-like. Lydia raised an eyebrow from the other side of the room.</p><p>"Derek fucking Hale."</p><p>Her eyebrows stayed raised. </p><p>"Not only am I stuck mowing lawns and picking weeds for three months, but I'll be working with that grumpy old dog. A hundred lawn companies in Berkeley, and he had to work for the same one. I'm not sure what I despise more: manual labor or Derek Hale."</p><p> </p><p>When Berkeley student Stiles' prestigious summer internship falls through, he thinks he's out of luck. He's put down a deposit on a summer apartment in the city with Lydia, and Scott has already set aside a week to come up from Beacon Hills for a visit. He can barely afford the apartment as it is, so his only option is to find another job.When he's hired by a lawn company, the last thing he expects is to be working side by side with Derek Hale. The same Derek Hale that has been a wolfy thorn in his side since high school. Stiles is determined to keep up the petty arguments and rivalries, and Derek is less than thrilled to have the skinny kid with him for an entire summer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Out of Luck

Everything seemed to be going perfectly for Stiles Stilinski. After two painfully difficult years of undergraduate computer science courses under his belt at Berkeley, his life seemed to be taking form. He had set up a summer internship with a promising startup firm working in customer loyalty and website development, and he would finally be able to get some of the "real world experience" that professors were always pestering them about. Lydia had set up an internship for herself as well. Something mathy. She would be analyzing data and using big numbers. He hadn't asked too many questions.

The two of them had thrown together the money in their bank accounts and rented out a small two bedroom apartment in the city for the summer, and the meager stipends from their work would just cover the costs of food and entertainment. Scott had even set aside time to come up from Beacon Hills to visit the two of them. It was a surprisingly good plan, actually. That is, until Stiles checked his email.

It had been a long enough day already. Finals had just wrapped up the week before, and Stiles would be happy to get a 50% on some of them. He was still recovering from the sleep deprivation that his studies required, and his nerves were jittery with the flow of caffeine through his veins. Most of Stile's things had been transported to his new apartment over the course of the last few days, and he was just dropping by campus to pick up a few more bags. After locking up his dorm room and slinging a bag of painfully dirty laundry over his head, he trudged down the winding staircase of the dingy 1960s building and out into the blazing California heat. A mere thirty seconds into his walk, Stiles was already aching for a break. While he had managed to stave off the dreaded freshman fifteen, Stiles' exercise routine had been severely lacking as of late. He heaved the bag back over his shoulder and hauled ass to the nearby campus coffee shop.

Soon, with an iced tea in one hand and a blueberry muffin in the other, Stiles was plopped down in the air-conditioned room, blissfully enjoying his snack. He set his drink down on the smudged glass table and deftly swiped his laptop out of the padded sleeve of his backpack. As his fingers danced across the keyboard, unlocking the screen and opening a game of minesweeper, his email alert binged. He saw the sender: KeyWay Development. His heart rate skyrocketed. God forbid his summer employers had seen his second semester grades. Would they rescind their internship offer because of one D? I mean, he passed the class, didn't he?

Stiles scrunched his eyes closed and slowly peeked them open, clicking the email with a nervous mind.

"Dear Mr. Stilinski,

It is with great disappointment that we are sending you this message. Due to an unexpected lack of funds and stunted company growth, KeyWay Development has been forced to downsize. We are cutting back on our already small staff, and we have been forced to withdraw all internship opportunities. While you were a very promising intern, and even future employee, we are sorry to say that your hired position is no longer available. We apologize for the inconvenience caused by this last minute cancelation, and everyone here at KeyWay wishes you the best of luck in your future school work and endeavors. 

Best regards,

Brad Lander  
Head of Consulting and Recruitment, KeyWay Development"

It took a few moments for the message to sink in. His internship. canceled. No more summer income. No more "real world experience." No more employed, working man Stiles. 

"God fucking dammit." He swore, maybe a little to loudly. A student sitting nearby glanced up with disdain and stared pointedly at him.

"God fucking dammit." he repeated, just a little bit softer.

Stiles yanked his phone out of his back pocket and quickly typed in Lydia Martins number, a number that had been memorized since Sophomore year of high school. While the phone rang, Stiles paced. His footsteps quickened as Lydia failed to answer. After one failed try he dialed again. This time there was an answer.

"Sorry, Stiles!" Lydia said, clearly out of breath, "I was just-"

"S'ok, don't need to know." he blurted. Stiles could hear a male voice in the background, all the information he really needed.

"Why the call? Do you need help moving your stuff? I can be to your dorm soon."

"Thanks, but not why I called," Stiles responded, "Intership's done. kaput. dead. nonexistent."

"Wait, what?" she said in an incredulous tone.

"Company's downsizing, can't afford to hire me. I'm freaking out Lyd. I need the cash for school next year, and I already paid for our apartment. I need this job, I can't just go on back to Beacon Hills and sit around all summer like I did in high school. I just can't do it, Lyd."

Lydia took a deep breath on the other end, "Calm down Stiles. That blows, it really, really blows. They would have been lucky to have you. When you're not goofing off you really are a smart guy. And remember that, I'm not repeating it. You have time though, get another job. I'm sure there's plenty available around Berkeley once all the students leave in the summer. Check the paper listings and online. You'll be fine."

Stiles heard the male voice talking again in the background.

"Ok, gotta go. We'll meet up at the apartment, get dinner. I'll help you find something. You'll be fine Stiles, trust me." the line went dead.

Even after the phone call with Lydia, who he would readily admit was one of the most logical people he knew, Stiles still felt shaky. His financial situation wasn't perfect with his dad's job as a sherif of a small town, and Stiles had a couple more years before he could go out and get a real job. Stiles just didn't want to be a burden to his father. He figured dropping the wolf news on him would tide him over for a few more years at least. Stiles stopped pacing and wandered over to bulletin boards in the back of the cafe. They were plastered full of notices, but between the posters for drama club and advertisements for tutors, there were job listings. Never to soon to start.

With a variety of job prospects shoved into his book bag, Stiles exited the coffee shop, his worries barely beginning to ebb. 

It was almost 7:00 when Lydia pushed open the door to their apartment. She had a stack of Chinese takeout containers balanced precariously in one hand and numerous bags, fresh from the dry cleaners, in the other.

"Oh, don't give me that look. One of these dresses was handmade, the others say dry clean only, I CAN'T just put them in a heap on the floor and stick them in the communal washing machine. That would be a crime."

"A fashion crime, maybe." 

Lydia rolled her eyes, and with a flourish she set everything down neatly on the counter. She grabbed two forks, throwing one at Stiles' head, and dug into a container of fried rice.

"Oh, thou great unemployed, where shalt we begin?" Lydia mocked lovingly

"Grabbed a bunch of stuff from the cafe on campus, I didn't really read them over too much, but might be worth a look though."

"OK. lets start," without hesitation Lydia grabbed the crumpled stack on the counter and began to read, "no good, only want a female babysitter. Anyways, little kids hate you. Now why would you take this one? You have no idea how to run a sound board, let alone an entire theatre department. Scientific research, no. Graduate work, no. English tutoring, god no. no, no, no, no."

Stiles had begun to zone out as fliers continued to float to the ground. By the time Lydia was done sorting through, only three remained.

Stiles blinked, "Frozen yogurt, pizza delivery, or landscaping. This is gonna be heaps of fun."


	2. Employed. Again.

Stiles had stayed up well into the early morning completing his applications. Thank the gods that all of them had been available online. He had drafted a quick resume, lying easily about job experience in Beacon Hills, and putting down Scott as the contact for his fake employment. he drudged up past GPAs and volunteer experiences, and by midnight he had a halfway decent, partially truthful document. With a few changes here and there for each job, he sent them off to be read and judged.

It wasn't until three days later that Stiles heard anything back. The three days had been stressful. He had yet to tell his dad about his lack of employment for fear of worrying him, and he had begun fearing the worst. He received the phone call at noon, just as he was waking up for another day of netflix and brooding.

"Hello" Stiles answered in a not-totally-awake-yet-voice

"Is this Mr. Stilinksi?" a gruff but not altogether unfriendly sounding voice asked from the other end of the line.

"Yeah, yeah. This is Mr. Stilinksi, Stiles actually."

"Hello, then, Stiles. I'm Carl Wadsworth. I'm the owner of Green Thumb, the landscaping company. You sent in an application for summer work earlier this week, are you still interested?"

Stiles perked up at once, "Yes, definitely. definitely."

"Can you lift fifty pounds."

"yeah."

"Have you ever mowed a lawn?"

"yeah, I can do that."

"Are you allergic to the sun?"

"uh, is that a trick question? Cause no, I'm not."

"Ok good answer. You have a job. We're real short of staff here and appointments are racking up quick. Can you start tomorrow?"

Stiles was in disbelief. He had a job. That was easier than expected. Maybe his summer plans would work out after all. he stuttered out another "Yeah." and soon Carl was rattling off an address and running down the expectations and benefits of his work. To Stile's surprise, the pay wasn't actually atrocious. It was above minimum wage, anyways. Looks like he'd be decently fed this summer.

\-------

The next morning Stiles awoke with his alarm bright and early. Last night, he had called his dad and informed him of his change of plans. Sherif Stilinski was disappointed in the change, but had encouraged his son to take the new job offer. 

"At least they'll keep you off my back for another summer. But be careful, Stiles. I know there aren't werewolves running around Berkeley, but you manage to attract trouble no matter the situation. Promise me you'll be careful."

Stiles had promised while grinning sheepishly, his dad had a point. Trouble seemed to follow him around. Usually attached to werewolves, granted, so hopefully he'd be okay here. After the phone call with his dad, he had called Scott, giving him the same message. He missed his best friend much more than he thought he would, and the random text messages and Skype calls didn't compare to the days and days on end with Scott that he had been used to. The talked about their lives. Scott was still single, but hoping for the cheesy summer love of a Nicholas Sparks movie. He was still working in Beacon Hills and wolfing out on the reg. Stiles, too, was still morbidly single and the friends bellyached over their lack of relationships for what seemed like ages before hanging up. Thankfully, despite Stiles' changed plans, Scott's visit was still on, so it would be just a month until the friends reunited.

After replaying the previous day in his head, Stiles practically punched the alarm clock to turn off the incessant beeping. He began to slowly extricate his limbs from the tangled sheets and rolled over towards the edge of the bed. He stopped and groaned, morning wood rubbing against the inside of his shorts. It had been a year since Stiles was in an actual relationship, and a couple of hook ups he had had throughout the school year in no way replaced regular sex. He snuck his hand down his stomach, snaking it under the waistband of his shorts and squeezing tightly, giving himself the slightest bit of relief. 

He groaned slightly and scooted back, swinging his legs off the edge of the bed and standing up shakily. "Down boy," he mumbled, staring down at his crotch, "no time for this."

While attempting to ignore his predicament, Stiles stumbled into the bathroom. He stripped down quickly, twisting the faucet in the bath to get the water flowing. After giving the water a few seconds to warm up, Stiles stepped past the current. He allowed the water to hit his face, scrunching in up and rubbing his sleep-heavy eyes. As the almost-too-hot water flowed down over his limbs, Stiles could feel his body relaxing and his mind waking up. He massaged his shoulders with the palms of his hands and scrubbed shampoo through his scraggly hair. 

For a few seconds he stood there in silence, allowing the water to rush around him, blocking out every other noise. Using a hand to push his hair back off his face, Stiles stared up at the bathroom ceiling and sighed. So it begins. He cranked off the flow of water and stepped out of the tub, wrapping himself in a fluffy towel.

After brushing his teeth, Stiles walked back to his room, wondering what in the heck an appropriate outfit for gardening was. He settled for khaki shorts and a rumpled lacrosse shirt from Beacon Hills, having realized none of his laundry was actually clean yet. Still not fully awake, Stiles shuffled to the small kitchen. One overflowing bowl of fruit loops and a swig of orange juice from the carton later, he was on his bike pedaling towards the headquarters of Green Thumb.

\--------

It was precisely three minutes before he was due for work that he rode into the parking lot of Green Thumb, already sweating in the humid temperatures. He wiped his forehead with the hem of his shirt and parked his bicycle along the fence. He took in his surroundings as he walked towards the door. Green Thumb was primarily a local garden store. Through the gate he could see neatly organized rows of budding plants, ranging from small trees to herbs and vegetable plants. Inside of the small storefront were organized packets of seeds, pots of varying sizes, and an unfortunate number of kitschy garden decorations. He could see an older woman hunched over the small wooden register in the corner, dutifully working her way through a crossword puzzle.

Although it was not his first choice of work, Stiles could already feel himself relaxing into his new surroundings. Especially since Scott's big wolf out in sophomore year, Stiles had grown increasingly comfortable running around in the woods of Beacon Hills. He spent a large portion of his time outside, and he had done all of the yard maintenance at his house since he was strong enough to push the lawn mower. He grinned, there was a slight chance he wouldn't hate this too much after all.

Reaching the glass doors, Stiles pushed his way into Green Thumb, walking straight up to the woman at the counter. He would place her around fifty years old, maybe older, and she looked as if she had spent her life under the sun. Her brown hair was streaked with gray and pulled back into a ponytail at the base of her neck. She wore a humorously large green polo shirt with the Green Thumb logo emblazoned on the chest. Her name tag read "Helen Wadsworth."

Stiles smiled widely, holding his hand up to salute the lady,  
"Mrs. Wadsworth, Stiles Stilinski, amateur landscaper and new employee reporting for duty."

Thankfully the spectacle received a warm smile in return and the woman stepped out from behind the counter, brushing off her hands on the polo. She stuck out her hand for a warm handshake, "Mrs. Wadsworth was my mother-in-law. I'm Helen around here. My husband, Carl, mentioned that we had a new employee coming. Welcome to our humble business, and we're very excited to have you here. I don't wanna go way in depth, Carl loves giving newbies to ole run down of the place, you can find him out back."

Stiles nodded his thanks and circled around to the back of the business. Among the few customers he could see milling around, he noticed a tall, gangly man in a matching polo and a faded baseball hat. The man he assumed to be Carl was hunched over a row of purple coleus plants, dumping fertilizer into the trays.

Stiles stopped a few feet short and cleared his throat.

"Uh, Carl? It's, umm, Stiles, the new guy. Your wife Helen told me to come around back. Hope I'm not interrupting, I mean I can come back in a few minutes?" he cut himself off before he could stammer any more.

The man slowly picked himself up off the ground with a groan and turned around, goofy smile on his face.

"Damn son, someone's got your panties in a twist, you're fine. I'm Carl, owner of Green Thumb, you're just on time. I'm run you around the place and tell you about what you'll be doing here for the next couple of months."

Carl motioned for Stiles to follow him and started walking through the rows of plants, stopping every few steps to tidy up the displays. 

"We're a small, local place, cater to the families round Berkeley. We started solely as a garden store thirty or so years back, and more recently we've added on landscaping services. Once customers pick their plants and whatnot, for an extra fee they can have their purchases brought to their homes and the landscaping done for them," he stopped for a second and laughed, "takes all the fun out of it if you ask me, but hey I won't be a judge of character. This service becomes especially popular in the summer, and we've been needing new help. I'll be sending you off with a guy who's been working here a few summers; he can show you the ropes. Mostly you'll be putting down sod, planting new trees and plants, cutting lawns, trimming back existing bushes, that sort of thing. You'll catch on soon." He paused and pointed to a small, leafy green plant in one of the "herb" rows, " quick, tell me what plant that is."

Stiles stared slack jawed at the green thing, which in his humble opinion looked an awful lot like every other green thing in sight, "uhhh, is it uhhhh a rose bush?"

His answer got a chuckle out of Carl, "Not quite. That's basil. He pointed to a twiggy bush a few rows down that was starting to bloom. That's a rose bush."

When the older man saw Stiles sheepishly staring at the dirt in front of him, he clapped him on the shoulder, "oh it's just an initiation thing. You'll be telling cilantro from parsley in no time."

The two men walked side by side back towards the store, and Carl quizzed Stiles about his life. By the time they reached a worn out pickup truck, the man knew about Stile's dad, his lacking lacrosse career, his classes at UC Berkeley, and his future goals. Although Stiles felt slightly as though he was being interrogated, he had also missed the feeling of having an older, caring adult around. More points for his new job. 

As he was lounging against the side of the truck, Carl interrupted his thoughts, "Your partner in crime will be here soon. There are a couple of shipments to unload out back, and you two can get to know each other. I think he might actually be from the same town as you. Beacon Heights?"

"Hills, Beacon Hills."

The man chuckled, "yep, that's the name. Anyway, there's a big place a couple miles off that needs to whole backyard done. You two can bring the plants and equipment over today and get going. It'll probably take a few days at a conservative estimate, though, so you'll be over there for a bit."

As he trailed off, a camaro- a fucking black camaro- of all things pulled up. The door swung open and a dark haired, tall man stepped out. 

"Get a load of that guy," Stiles muttered in Carl's general direction.

"Yeah, sometimes I wonder why he works here myself. Doesn't seem to need the money. Derek's a hard worker, though. I never turn down a hard worker." 

Stiles started at the name. Was Carl messing around, and was this some big coincidence, or had karma decided to bite him in the ass. Unfortunately for Stiles, the later seemed to be the case. Just as he was contemplating quitting a job he barely even had, Derek Hale ambled around the corner, leather jacket and all. 

the moment Derek made eye contact with Stiles, his eyes flashed a violent blue and he took a visible step back. His grouchy expression increasing even further, the chiseled man inched towards Stiles and Carl. Derek quirked an angry eyebrow in Stiles' general direction.

"The newbie," Carl explained, "Take the keys unlock the shed. Shipment came in last night. I'll be out back if you need me." the owner scurried off, obviously aware of the thickening tension.

Stiles turned to face Derek, "you've got to be joking."

Without a reply Derek growled, a low, deep sound in his chest, and hunched his shoulders, walking towards a shed. When Stiles failed to follow he turned sharply and hissed at the student, "You coming, kid?"


	3. Sufficiently Awkward

It was with a face flushed with anger and clenched fists that Stiles turned and followed Derek Hale towards the Green Thumb shed.

Stiles hadn't seen this particular Hale in over a year. When home in Beacon Hills, Stiles readily avoided all werewolf interactions that included the uptight man. Their conversations always devolved into arguments, and it had gone so far as to strain the relationship between Stiles and Scott. Unfortunately for the two of them however, the same year that Stiles was admitted into UC Berkeley with a sizable chunk of financial aid and scholarship, a certain werewolf took it upon himself to enroll in Berkeley's highly ranked graduate courses. Since the day that the coincidence had been found out, Stiles had liked to believe that it was out of some personal revenge plot that Derek had chosen Berkeley as well.

Thankfully for the two men, the campus was large and none of their classes had any chance of overlapping. Stiles imagined Derek to be a shut in intellectual, hunched over a too-small desk and tapping away at his keyboard in a dingy school basement. This didn't seem to be the case. Stiles himself had fostered a very active social life from the minute he stepped on campus. Most weekends were spent at house parties; he had shelled out for a fake I.D., but he was often denied entrance to local bars anyways; the fake wasn't all that convincing. I mean Jake Smith, age 26, from Utah...really? 

On December 2nd (was it weird that Stiles still remembered the date?) of his freshman year, a few days before he was scheduled to return home for winter break, Stiles and a group of friends had headed out a rager at some senior hockey player's house. He was a local rich kid, and the house was massive. Before ten p.m. there were a few hundred people crammed onto the premises, and the alcohol was flowing freely. Stiles, although he wouldn't admit it to himself, had probably had too much to drink. He could still remember tripping over his own to feet more than usual, and his horrid karaoke rendition of "Mamma Mia" was a moment he would never live down. Soon, he had lost his group of friends to beer pong, hook ups, and dancing. It wasn't too long before Stiles had made a new group of acquaintances, and not much later than an older student propositioned him to a night at his place, no strings attached.

Being Stiles, even a drunk Stiles, he immediately accepted the offer. Sex was sex. He'd self-identified as bisexual for a wile, and this wouldn't be the first time that he explored his different tastes. The guy lived close, a couple of blocks closer to campus on foot, and the two of them were on their way. Stiles was sober enough to remember that the guy was a grad student, studying some sort of hard science. He had been taller than Stiles and dark haired, and he had some sort of cheesy tribal tattoo on his upper arm. Stiles wasn't sober enough to remember the his name.

Fast forward to the two of them in Tattoo Guy's bed, clothes gone, hook up well underway. The night was sloppy, things were strewn across the room and they had almost fallen off the bed multiple times. Neither of them heard the house door opening on the lower level, and neither of them heard the creaks as someone walked up the old wooden staircase. What they did notice was the bright light and following smorgasbord of curse words that flowed from a certain werewolf's mouth.

That's right, of the 10,000 graduate students attending UC Berkeley, this one happened to be the housemate of the one and only Derek Hale. What happened next was dramatic enough for the golden screen. Stiles could have sworn that he saw Derek begin to wolf out, although that could have been the alcohol talking. Because of obvious reasons, perfect night vision and inhuman sense of smell, Derek immediately knew who Stiles was. To put it frankly, the wolf was livid. 

Stiles never knew why the man was so mad. Was it because Stiles, a horny 19 year old kid, was sleeping with his 23-ish year old housemate? Was it because Derek hated Stiles and this encounter was just another thing to hold against him? Was Derek just an angry person in general?

Either way, he was soon booted out of the house, pants and shoes thrown after him one at a time. The encounter was humiliating and infuriating for Stiles. Not only had Scotts sometimes-mentor and beyond-agravating-werewolf seen him in the buff in an INCREDIBLY compromising situation, but the man had also felt that he had the authority to kick Stiles out on his behind. The anger between the two men continued to ferment, despite the fact that they hadn't seen each other since.

That one painful night, and the already tense relationship between Stiles and Derek had gone from bad to worse. And now, for the whole summer actually, the two of them would be working hand in hand.

"You gonna help, or stand there like a fucking statue?" Derek snarled in his general direction.

Stiles glanced over to see the shed open, a few dozen bags of potting soil piled inside, waiting to be unloaded into the shop. Derek had already thrown one bag over each shoulder, an easy feat for the werewolf, and was walking smoothly away. Stiles groaned, shook his head a little, and grabbed a heavy bag of dirt, carrying after Derek. The process continued in the same manner for a good twenty minutes, the two men steadily avoiding eye contact as they swiftly passed each other. You could cut the tension with a knife, and Stiles was not having any of it.

"Just my luck," he thought to himself, "And I thought my summer plans were getting back on track. Now I'll be spending eight hours a day with this douche. Perfect, just perfect."

As the last few bags of soil were loaded into the store, Stiles settled down, leaning against the bed of the pickup and swigging from a bottle of water. Although he made an effort to look nonchalant, Stiles knew that Derek could hear his racing heart and practically smell the anger coming from every pore. Derek walked over, coming to a halt a few feet in front of Stiles. Very confrontational.

"Whatcha up to buttercup? If you hadn't noticed there's some work to be done. I'll be back in five, and when I'm back I want all of this," he motioned with a sweeping hand to an arranged pile of plants, soil, and lawn equipment, "to be loaded in the back of this truck. We're off to work until 4 this afternoon."

As Derek finished and began to walk off, Stiles stood there, mouth agape.

Derek turned with a snarl, "You'd better hurry up, buttercup: four minutes and twenty seconds."


	4. Work It Out?

Stiles started and began to carry things to the back bed of the pickup truck. As quickly as his tiring (and, as he hated to admit it, slightly out of shape) arms could manage, the empty truck was filled with ferns, shrubs, and flowering plants, non of which Stiles knew the name of. His hair was sticking to his forehead and sweat was sticking to his shirt as the last of the landscaping tools were loaded up. 

He could see Derek on the other side of the parking lot, talking to a customer and gesturing to a few different bags of fertilizer. Even from here, he looked impeccable. He had shed the leather jacket and wore an almost-too-tight black v neck: very different from the sweaty, sticky mess that Stiles was slowly becoming in the California heat. 

Stiles is irritated. Seeing Derek standing there, looking like he's about to walk onto the set of a photo shoot was enough to piss him off.

Derek turned, now finished with the inquiring customer, "Done?"

Stiles nodded curtly, unwilling to even give Derek a response.

"Then what are you waiting for. Get in, already."

The man swung the drivers door open, swinging himself into the driver's seat. His muscle rippled as he reached out, slamming the door maybe a little too harshly behind him. Stiles gently placed himself on the seat next to Derek, staring anywhere but at his coworker. Derek shoved the key into the ignition, turning it and allowing the engine to roar to life. he swung the car around, pulling out down the driveway and taking a harsh right out of the parking lot. As soon as they were driving, Derek slammed his hand onto the dashboard, laying with the radio dial and growling in a low breath as the station came up as static. After a few more moments of fiddling, a station came on, blasting a bizarre country pop remix. With a snarl, Derek slammed his fist onto the buttons, brining silence back to the car.

Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles could make out Derek's canines, sharper than those of a human, pointing out from between his lips. Derek's hands were clenched tightly around the tearing wheel, and the man looked ready to bust a blood vessel.

A feeling of intense awkwardness washed over Stiles. 

"fuck this," he thought, "all I did was sleep with some guy. I didn't do a damn thing wrong. What the hell is his problem?"

\-----------

It took less than ten minutes for Derek to drive them over to the house. He sped well above the posted 25 mph speed limit, his werewolf reaction times keeping the truck rolling smoothly along the neighborhood roads. They pulled up to a large brick home, three stories high with a circular drive. the front was landscaped beautifully, with perfectly edged grass and an array of colorful blooms lining the pathway to the front door. Derek jumped out and slammed the door behind him, sliding his hand along the truck's Green Thumb logo as he walked around. He grabbed a pair of work gloves.

He threw on a pair of headphones quickly, nodding his head to some imperceptible music.

"Take these." He dumped a shovel, rake, and other unidentifiable tools into Stile's arms and turned around. He grabbed the base of a small Dogwood tree and heaved it up to his waist with both arms. He stealthily carried the large plant down the twisting drive towards the backyard. Stiles followed, marveling at Derek's surprisingly growly behavior.

They spent the next couple of hours in the expansive backyard. Derek dug shrubs out of the plant beds while Stiles mowed the lawn and laid fertilizer. The two of them exchanged as few words as possible, only communicating when absolutely necessary.

Before long, the wet heat of the summer began to feel overwhelming. Stiles fished his phone out of his back pocket, checking the time. almost four.

"Derek, when we heading out?" Stiles yelled in the man's general direction. When the man failed to answer, Stiles looked over and groaned. headphones. of course. He stalked over the man, who was bent over a large flower bed, back rippling with every slight turn. Why did his nemesis have to be such an adonis?

Stiles turned, stopping right next to Derek. He leaned over and thumped the man on the back with the side of his foot.

"I said"

before Stiles could finish, Derek had swung around and grabbed Stiles by the ankle, his eyes flashing blue. A snarl traveled across his face, settling in his stereotypical deep scowl. 

"Don't ever touch me. ever."

"Sorry grumpy, didn't mean any harm. You gonna Medusa me or something?"

Derek blinked.

"You know, like the snaky lady with the hair who does the statue thing," he wiggled his fingers in a pitiful impersonation of a snake, "whatever forget it. we leaving yet?"

"yeah, sure, that's fine."

"Oook, then."

the two walked back to the truck, covered in dirt and sufficiently annoyed.

 

\--------

Stiles slammed the door, dropped his book bag on the ground, and collapsed with a grunt on the apartment's beat-up couch. It was all quite dramatic, very Stiles-like. Lydia raised an eyebrow from the other side of the room.

"Derek fucking Hale."

Her eyebrows stayed raised.

"Not only am I stuck mowing lawns and picking weeds for three months, but I'll be working with that grumpy old dog. A hundred lawn companies in Berkeley, and he had to work for the same one. I'm not sure what I despise more: manual labor or Derek Hale."

"Oh, you're exaggerating, it can't be that bad. What Derek Hale lacks in personality he makes up for in muscle mass."

"Ewww!!! Lydia, NOT HAPPENING."

"Admit it."

"Uh, no thank you. Remember freshman year. That pretty much screwed any chance of a civil relationship between the two of us."

"I bet he was just jealous. Liked what he saw and wished it was him instead of his classmate."

A pillow came traveling across the room and smacked the ginger in the side of the head.

"Hey, watch it buddy. Just straightened this." She gestured at her shining, pin straight locks.

"Keep the 'Derek's a fine piece of ass' comments to a minimum, and I'll keep the pillow hurling to a minimum."

Lydia chuckled under her breath before she began to talk in ernest about her new job. He still hadn't caught the name, but she was doing some sort of business analytics. A junior from Berkeley was working at the same firm, apparently he was hot. She liked the work too; it kept her brain busy. At least his friend would be getting her "real world experience" this summer. Maybe a new boyfriend, too.

It took a good hour before Lydia's mouth stopped running, and in that time Stiles had logged onto his laptop and ordered a pizza. The delivery man showed up soon, and Stiles ate the entire box of cheesy goodness by himself. He deserved it, after all, with what he had to deal with all day.

He fell asleep that night on the couch, empty pizza box on his lap and tv blaring in the background, far from ready to face a certain Derek Hale the next morning.


End file.
